GATE: An Isekai story of a Bunny Blooded Half-Orc
by konamikode
Summary: Khornami Frostfang is a Half-Orc born into the Winterwood tribe of Headhunting Rabbits. Not an odd occurrence when factoring the promiscuity of said tribals, but the mind within is not that of a normal Orc. He is a man from another world trying to protect his tribe with otherworldly knowledge, but nothing is ever so easy in a society that refuses to change.


**GATE: An Isekai story of a Bunny Blooded Half-Orc**

AN: This story has been posted here to increase my reader base. The adult version of this story can be found on Questionable Questing under my same username konamikode. There are also pictures and music links on the originally published material on QQ meant to enhance the reading experience that are not present in this version of the story.

 **Chapter 1: My Bunny family was cute so an Orc like me decided to live there**

 _1-1 Layna Frostfang: My Strange Clan-Blooded Son_

As the noon sun reaches its peak I see the familiar rolling plains _finally_ break apart into a sea of freshly growing crops being cultivated in neat squares that surround the small hill where home rests. In front and behind me, I can see, hear, and _feel_ the tension slowly easing out of my warriors like a taut bowstring gently being released. Much to my pride, the younglings who have come on the hunt with us do not _completely_ relax.

 _Just as they have been taught_.

Soon enough we are hailed by the various members of our tribe tending to the field. Some with cheerful waves and while others cry out happily at the sight of our full tarp covered _'cart'_ being triumphantly pulled across the flat plains of our territory. The Dewclaws puff their chests, tails quivering to a one. I and the other older huntresses too allow the familiar sensation of success to wash over us comfortably and with dignity in most cases. Some of the less seasoned warriors do however wave back and loudly boast of the bountiful feast we bring back to the tribe.

All this noise of course, draws its fair share of attention.

In particular a very specific set of vocalizations and the accompanying cacophony that is sure to follow. Even before I can see him, my ears to turn in the direction of where my firstborn is hurriedly crushing a path through.

"Mother! You have returned!" The familiar body shaking bass **_booms_** through the air followed by the lumbering thumps of, entirely too heavy for the poor fields of barley, footfalls. Soon enough the racket is followed up first by the image of a sea of crops being split by a single, massive wave that does nothing to obscure the imposing muscular bulk of a near ten foot half-orc who makes his full blooded cousins seem almost waifish in comparison.

 _Fifteen winters of age and he's already grown larger than his Vyking blooded father. As his birth mother I could not be prouder!_

It is with a fond smile that I roll my eyes at my fellow huntresses playfully quipping that the young pup has yet to give up the teat and is eager to be fed. "Of course I have my son! And I bring the spoils of a most successful hunt!" I shout back as loud as I can in an effort to make my voice heard over the growing sounds of thunderous mass pulverizing the earth beneath! With arms spread wide I stand my ground in the familiar ritual my only son and I have indulged in ever since he could run.

 _And how quickly he learned to do so. As if the strength blessing his powerful body had equally done so with his mind._

 _Yet one more sign that the gods have marked him for greatness._

"Haha! So I see! A bull ma-nuga, and one at the prime of his life at that! As expected of my deadly birth-mother!" He rumbles joyously, laughter bellowing from deep within his gut as a wide smile finds itself on his face, my own growing to match his exuberance.

I do not flinch as he leaps the last twenty feet separating us at a dead sprint and lands explosively, carving a long trench in the soft fertile earth of spring with his bare feet. I have long grown used to his _game_ of 'chicken'.

My son was quite rambunctious as a child you see. Possessing a strong, wild nature he would regularly charge just so at his favorite members of the tribe only to slow himself to a halt when one flinched. Or in the case of those who stood their ground, would only come to a sudden stop just before his bulk made contact with a friendly grin and an arm held out for a warrior's greeting.

Well, that's how I explained to him how the Vyking men greeted one another. An ancient training technique turned into a test of courage to inure growing _and grown_ warriors to the imposing sight of a charging beast baying for your blood. Of course like many other customs, he has made personal changes to suit his own odd view of the world.

My heart doesn't even skip a beat from a sight that should by all rights tense even the most veteran huntresses.

 _I know that he would never hurt me._

Large, calloused hands firmly grip my waist with an unexpected gentleness of carefully trained strength before bleeding the momentum of his nearly halted charge by lifting me up weightlessly and spinning me around cheerfully. "Welcome home!" He lowers his voice to merely 'loud' and pulls me in close to wrap his arms fully around me in the familiar warmth of his muscular chest and shoulder.

"Did you really miss me so much despite being a proven hunter yourself?" I chuckle warmly, circling my arms tightly around his thick neck and fondly rubbing my cheek against his as one would do with the closest of family and blood bonded warriors.

"I have many clan mothers, but it is you that I love the most, Ma." He finishes our near monthly ritual as we have done for the past thirteen years, placing my floating feet down softly after I pat him once on the shoulder to let him know that I have allowed him enough affection.

 _My great child whose heart is as big as he is large_.

 _I know that he is not a bunny and that he is strange even for his kind. But I cannot find it in myself to begrudge him for his oddities. One should not show such favoritism for all of us care for the tribe's children, but I am allowed this selfishness._

 _So said my son as he scoffed rebelliously when I first had to chastise him._

 _"I love everyone in the clan and tribe Ma. I just like some people better." The young boy of four winters who already stood taller than my waist grumbled with his arms crossed before hugging me as I closed my eyes and sighed. "Why shouldn't I show how much I care?"_

A prophetic question that he turned into a personal ethos time and again. In the past, the present, and the future, that was how my ever smiling son would live his life. My gods blessed boy with eyes of fire and frost.

 _My Khornami Frostfang._

"Hah, you big unweaned pup. Go, your clan cousins and sister could use some help with the cart contraption you spent so much time making." I clap a hand on his broad back and _nudge_ him forward with all my strength towards the three young Dewclaw bunnies and the single clan blooded wolf haplessly huffing and puffing to pull the wooden cart loaded with our kill up the small hill our village rested on.

He allows me to budge his titanic frame of course. He is heavy enough now that I would have to charge at him full tilt to ever have a hope of making him _stumble_. Downhill.

"Ah! Of course mother! Elder sister! Cousins! I come!" My only son calls out with an exaggerated wave, slowly jogging his way down the cobbled path he had paved three summers ago as part of his 'strength training and village improvement program'. "I think I've _finally_ figured out how to make a real _'beer'_! So tonight! We! Will! **Drink** -"

"Hardy's bouncing fucking tits, shut up and get your big green ass over here Khor!" Face flushing in exertion, the eldest child of my second youngest cousin screams with her ears reared back and fangs bared. Tyne's expression grows thunderous as Khor's pace slows to a self aggrandizing walk.

Even if I can't see it, I can only sigh softly to myself as I imagine the trickster grin on his face.

As I mentioned before, he is _quite free spirited_.

"But elder sister!? Do you not remember telling me that you would protect your best little brother forever and ever when we were children? How are you going to keep your promise if you aren't even strong enough to pull a tiny little cart?" He sing songs and dramatically raises his hands up to his sides while shaking his head-

"When we were **four you daft idiot!** I swear, when I get my hands on you I'm gonna rip your fucking balls of-" But before the girl who was born mere months earlier than her clan brother can slip under the cart's handle and leave her companions to possibly be run over by the wooden object, another, just as irate voice calls out.

 **"I'm gonna take your place as the den brother for the clan fluffle hut for a month if you don't get your smug fucking face down here and** ** _push_** **!"** The clan blooded wolf male snarls out from behind the cart, pushing with all the strength his slim body tremblingly holds.

" **What!? Grick you flea ridden cunt! Don't you fucking** ** _dare_** **!** " My orcish firstborn _yelps deeply_ in horror as he immediately runs down the hill at a dead sprint.

My son should be worried. As popular as he is with the 'little fluffs' as he calls the clan's daughters and non pure blooded sons, if the young werewolf were to volunteer for the position the clan elders would have no choice but to give into the pleading cries of the children.

Our young feel most secure when they are happily resting on a furry body.

 _And Grick's fur is delightfully velvety_. _So svelte in form unlike many of his race as well…_

 _…_

 _He_ ** _is_** _of age and far enough from my line to provide acceptable offspring in the case I_ ** _were_** _to be with child. Mfufu~ Something to think about later tonight. It_ ** _is_** _about time the young bucks and does to begin feeling…_ ** _urges_**

With my own thoughts quietly bubbling within I turn around to rejoin the rest of my hunting party, all the while delightfully thinking about what my talented son will be making for dinner tonight.

 _Mm… fried herb crusted loins and mushrooms? Slow braised shoulder in sweet and sour 'sauce'? No, no, with such fresh bounty he will surely prepare a delicious root hash and 'rare' steak on that 'outdoor grill' invention of his-_

 _What is that grinding noise?_

 **"RAAAAAA** **AAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUU** **UUUUUUUUUUGGGGG** **GGGGGGGHHHHHHHhhhhh** **hhhhhh-** **"** The roaring echoes of my son and the panicked screaming of his sister and cousins follows past the phantom of a cart being pushed past what he would call a safe 'speed limit'. In the time it takes me to blink and focus my eyes, I can just barely make out the speck that is my amazingly strong child furiously forcing the cart forward without regard for his passengers or the dangerously protesting wheels being pressed far beyond what I believe they were designed to do.

My mirth at the image of three bunnies and a wolf hanging on for dear life inside the cart itself is quickly smothered by the thick cloud of dust that sends me and my party into a fit of coughing and curses.

I have many good things to say about Khornami. What mother wouldn't? Gods be praised for gifting him to me, but by the same token…

 _Couldn't they have drilled some sense into that hot headed child!?_

 _…_

 _I suppose I was going bathe in the 'ondol' anyway_

 _'But Ma, that's the word for the heating system we use to-'_

It is with long practice that I banish the 'helpful explanation' my son is prone to giving about the proper terms for all of the god given insights he breathes life into.

I just want to take a long soak and wait for our tribe's most eccentric child to pamper his people with meals fit for the very gods who so generously whisper to him of the foods they indulge.

A shiver of anticipation races up my spine followed by my gut hungrily churning and groaning to be filled. It is followed by a long sigh as I share a look with my fellow sisters whose own stomachs growl in sympathy.

 _What point is there to admonishing the boy? He will simply appear and whisk away all apprehension and doubt with but a flip of his 'wok'. Ooh was that hunk of metal well worth the leathers and salted fish we traded those gruff walking beards for-_


End file.
